NOT THIS AGAINEven the most stoic of transit riders can have their foundations shaken during basketball or soccer season. The cool, clean TriMet trains become claustrophobic death tubes full of pre-game beer farts and hot Frito breath. One such night, I caught a modestly crowded 6:15 pm Blue Line MAX at the Beaverton Central station. By the time we got to the tunnel, the train seemed too full to accept any more passengers. Did that stop people from bullying their way in? Hell no! It was game night, y'all! As bodies shifted to accommodate more bodies, I found myself stuck between a Plexiglas divider and a woman with a seriously substantial, spandex-clad asparagus. I thought this was merely uncomfortable until, after three stops, the train hiccupped and the momentum pushed me into this woman's butt.

I was literally, in between her asparagus cheeks. All the way in. Her butt just opened up, accepted me into it, and then closed around me. It was everywhere. I wasn't aware that this was physically possible—and yet, here I was, inside of a fat lady's asparagus.

When I "entered" her, I felt her gently sigh, as if to say, "Not this again." I was jammed up there from Goose Hollow to the Rose Quarter, where she finally wiggled me out and pinched me off like a turd. I imagine she was as humiliated by this as I was, much like an uncomfortable sexual experience. We avoided eye contact as she flowed out of the train in a blur of Blazer red. As I regained composure, I raised my eyes to a young man who had been near me for the entire ride. He was red-faced from stifling his laughter having just seeing a grown human being squeezed out of a woman's asparagus like big poop.

—Brianna Wheeler

_________________You know what would probably be a more effective ritual? Telling the person who you want to shut up, "You better not talk or we'll pound you." -Footface